


What Matters

by CrotchetyOldLady



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, episode 2.07 State v. Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrotchetyOldLady/pseuds/CrotchetyOldLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What matters to Oliver? Right now only one thing matters. He can't think as his blood rushes so loudly. Felicity, Felicity. He will save her no matter what. </p><p>Oliver's pov when the Count kidnaps Felicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to help get over some writers block for another story. Didn't really work. But here's this I guess. It was fun to write.

**What Matters**

The day is stressful enough. His mother's future is being discussed, decided upon by a group of strangers as he stands there with his baby sister, the lawyer in front of them. He is so out of control in this situation. So Oliver. The old Oliver. The boy who never did anything worthwhile, never took any responsibility, didn't _want_ any responsibilities, was a celebrity, was _no one_. Naïve boy. Stupid boy. Sometimes at night, trying to sleep, he will imagine what it would be like if he could go back in time, to being that boy. He would spend so much time with Thea, he would treat Laurel like she deserved, he would never miss an opportunity to tell his parents he loved them, he would be happy, carefree. But those were pointless thoughts and eventually he would either fall into a fitful sleep or go workout. That Oliver was dead and gone. Standing here, beside Thea, waiting, hoping, he was a harder man, a stronger man, but even so he was still powerless in this situation. For all he did now to help others and this city, he could not help his mother with this.

The ringing jerked him out of his head and the situation and he fished his phone from his pocket. Seeing the caller id he perked up a bit, he could definitely go for a Felicity babble right now, maybe she'd even say one of her famous accidental innuendos. Those amused him the most. But that was not what he got.

_Oliver._

He can hear her underneath the harsh noise of the Count, not calling for him, but needing him. There is fire in his veins. How had this happened? It didn't matter. He is moving without thought. He barely heard Thea's protestations. He would deal with everything else later. It didn't matter.

Like always his Hood gear is with him. He dons it, but does not bother with the make-up or the namesake. This is not work for the vigilante. This is personal. He calls Officer Lance on the way using his modified Hood voice, tells him Felicity is in trouble and to get all units to Queen consolidated. Oliver tears to the building, through it, to floor where she is, where he has her. When Olver finally arrives and sees them he approaches slowly, cautiously. He has no plans, only fury, fear, and the blood and adrenaline roaring through his veins. The bow is there too, an extension of him.

The Count. What a stupid name. At first it reminded Oliver of cereal . The man is certainly neither royalty nor vampiric. And he deals in man-made chemicals, not blood. The only correlation is the neck pricking. But this stupidly named man is still a threat. He is behind a tied up Felicity. Darkness invading her light.

He sees the hand playing with her hair, threateningly gentle. Then those hands caress and squeeze her shoulders, as only a friend or lover should, as Oliver has before. She flinches in a way he has never seen from her before. Every time he touches her shoulders she leans in or turns her head and smiles or covers his hand with her own. Sure, he has startled her once or twice, but he has never seen that particular movement from her before, there is so much fear, so much disgust in that jerk of her shoulders. Olivers hands fist and he grinds his teeth together so hard his ears pop and he is sure his enamel will crack. All he can think of is getting the Count's hands off of her. He would like to tear them apart. Rip off each finger and then sever the remaining stump at the wrist.

But the Count is talking and Oliver must respond. Then he sees the familiar motion of a person pulling a gun and his body reacts without thought again. He seems to be incapable of rational thought today. Bullets are flying and glass is shattering, but the Count sets the gun aside soon enough. His hand, his hand again is now fisted in her hair at the base of her skull, controlling. Their position in front of the huge window makes them both look small, vulnerable, an easy target.

Now Oliver has never really _enjoyed_ killing and had rarely truly _desired_ to kill someone. For all his faults pre-island, cruelty nor violence were among them. On the island he was forced to kill and it was often a necessary thing to do in order to survive. As the Hood it had just been how he was used to solving problems and it had been the easy way to do things. After Tommy and coming back a second time, he had made a vow and had stuck to it vigilantly. Right now though, he really wanted to kill. Drive an arrow like a stake through the monsters heart and see his blood leave his body.

_Oliver, don't. Not for me._

He heard her and he remembers his vow, how important it is to him. So when he is told to lower his bow he does. He even fucking throws away his arrow. It's fine. He will offer himself to the Count, surely Oliver Queen and the Hood are a greater prize than a blonde nobody employee from Queen's Consolidated. He would be okay with dying for Felicity. His life doesn't matter. He has already escaped death so many times, he's lucky he has lived long enough to kiss his mother again, to see Thea all grown up, to meet Felicity.

But the Count doesn't take the offer. The needle moves and one, two, three. The vow doesn't matter compared to Felicity's safety. But his heart still feels hard in his chest when he hears the broken sound of a body hitting metal. His gives himself a moment, a closing of eyes, a single breath to apologize to Tommy, before he runs to her.

She does that flinch again when he first touches her and Oliver want to bury three more arrows in the Count's corpse for it. She looks at his face with such relief, eyes and nose still running, then immediately notices his wound. She touches him first, fingers barely brushing his sleeve so as not to hurt, but his blood still stains the tips bright red. She could have grabbed his arm though and he would have felt nothing, the injury is nothing compared to her safety. He cradles her neck, feeling her pulse, the warmth of her through his gloves. She smiles tremulously at him and he has to walk away. He wants to crush her to him and never let go, fuse their bodies together. But he can't. He has to get himself back under control, he has to put his mask back up.

It is so satisfying to see the body down there, broken and still leaking blood atop a taxi. The cops and sirens appear to remind him of the consequences of what he has done. It doesn't matter. He'd kill a hundred times more if it meant keeping Felicity from being hurt.

_You have to go, Oliver._

She is standing slightly behind him, looking at the cops getting out of their cars, guns drawn. He leads her away from the broken window, hand firm on the small of her back, and to the elevator. She pushes the down button for him. When it dings he slides his hand up to squeeze her shoulder, because if he looks at her tear streaked face and mussed hair, he might not leave. The doors open and he leaves her there, he hates it, but he does it. He leaves her to the police and paramedics, to questions and reports. He knows Lance will be there and that gives him some small comfort.

He changes in the car and takes care of his wound before leaving. He calls Diggle as soon as he begins driving, informing him of what happened. Diggle yells, demands every detail and to know why he wasn't informed _before_ everything went down. He finally calms down a bit when he is assured for the tenth time Felicity was not physically hurt. He says _Good_ when Oliver tells him he killed the Count.

His sister nearly attacks him when he enters the courthouse again. He can't answer her questions. He is so drained. Thea truly looks at him then and he knows his normal mask is not in place, but he can't hide right now. She sees it, he knows she does, she can see something has affected him. She grabs his wounded arm and he really feels it for the first time. The lawyer comes back at that moment and he is thankful, because he does not feel strong enough to fend off a Thea inquisition right now.

All he can think about throughout the verdict hearing is Felicity. About halfway through he receives a text from Diggle informing him that she has arrived at Verdant and Oliver breathes a sigh of relief. He leaves the courthouse the moment he can, speeding to Verdant. It doesn't matter that he could just call and talk to her and Diggle. It doesn't matter that he only has about fifteen minutes before he has to rush back to his family. He needs to see her safe, away from broken glass and blood and needles and bullets.

She matters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, sorry it took a bit. A less explicit version is on ff.net with the same user and story name.

When Oliver leaves Felicity for the second time that night she apologizes to him. He has to grit his teeth when she says it to keep himself from crushing her to him. He settles for taking her hand, feeling her warm skin against his own for the first time that day. He does not regret what he has done, never will, and he assures her of that. He walks away, knowing she will be okay.

Thea calls him on his way home and tells him to pick up a cake; they will be having a small welcome home celebration for their mother tonight. It is rather late and the only thing he can find is a premade white sheet cake adorned with pink frosting roses and pale green leaves. The woman working at the bakery tells him they cannot do any customizations today, but a little money goes a long way, and he gets a sprinkling of edible glitter and a simple We Love You written across the cake in golden cursive. He arrives home to a pacing sister who snatches the cake from his hands. Thea takes it out of the box and places it on their entry way table next to a small bunch of silver and gold balloons and a large bouquet of white roses and calla lilies. She gives a little disapproving twist of her mouth at the simplicity of the cake. _It was a little last minute_ , Oliver tries to defend his choice. Thea shrugs, _At least it’s white._

Moira can barely walk through the threshold before Thea has her arms wrapped around her. Oliver smiles at seeing his family together again. He hugs his mother tightly when Thea finally lets her go. Moira smiles softly at her children and thanks them. Oliver feels that she is not thanking them only for their little welcoming. They split the cake, eating on the couch, close together. They are quiet and content, a family reunited after many hardships. 

Plates on the coffee table, Moira connects all their hands together in her lap. She looks at her children carefully studying their features, memorizing every detail. She tells them how much she loves them, so so much. She tells them how much she appreciates them and how lucky she feels to be their mother. Thea’s eyes well and she wraps her mother in another hug, breaking apart their hands. Oliver places a hand on his sister’s back, but it is his mother’s face that draws his attention. She looks sad and worried, very worried, almost scared. He wants to ask what is wrong, but she is pulling herself up, going back to holding Thea’s hand. She smiles at them and tells them she is tired, has had a long day. She says goodnight, kissing Oliver on the cheek and then pressing her lips to Thea’s head, she lingers there for a moment running a hand over her daughter’s hair. Then she is away, gone to bed.

Once alone in his room after saying goodnight to Thea, Oliver feels suddenly very tired and his arm is throbbing. He showers, water scalding. His bullet wound feels like a white hot poker shoving its way through his arm and a trickle of blood leaks from between the stitches. He leaves the mind numbing deluge of water only when the skin around his wound turns an angry purpling red. After toweling off, he rolls into bed and falls asleep almost immediately. 

His dreams are dark and dizzying. He wakes up short of breath, heart hammering, the ghosts of Felicity’s cries in his mind. He scrambles out of bed, barely noticing that he has bled on his blankets since he forgot to wrap his arm back up. Before he is consciously aware of what he is doing he has grabbed his phone and is calling Felicity. He comes to his senses by the second ring and jerks the device away from his cheek to hang up. He sighs heavily and sits back down on his bed, phone fisted in his hand. He rubs his knuckles into his eyes trying to get rid of the last vestiges of his nightmare, or was it a memory? He is not very good at differentiating the two anymore. The phone rings in his fist, startling him. It is Felicity.

_Oliver what’s wrong? My phone rang, but it stopped before I could grab it. Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?_

Oliver cannot help the small smile that her rambling brings, but he is not sure how to respond to her questions. He decides the partial truth is best.

_I just wanted to check on you._

He can hear her gasp at that, it was obviously not what she had been expecting to hear. She collects herself and tells him that she is alright, a little paranoid, having trouble falling and staying asleep, and this phone call is not helping with that, but overall she is okay. 

_Okay_ , he says, _goodnight._ She says it back and he hangs up. It is good that she is okay; not many people would be okay after a day like Felicity had. But Felicity is strong, she is resilient, and she is okay. But she deserves _more_ , he thinks. She deserves to be more than okay, to be great, amazing, spectacular. He is up and dressing before he can think. He should really stop doing this, it is becoming a nasty habit, this acting before thinking, but he can’t help it when Felicity is involved. 

Maybe this is stupid and spontaneous. Maybe he is being selfish. It doesn’t matter. He takes his motorcycle to her apartment, he needs to get there before he comes to his senses. He is at her door almost impossibly fast. The first thing out of his mouth when she opens the door is Sorry, because it is true, he is sorry. He is sorry that he has complicated her life, puts her in danger, that she has to endure nights like the last one, and he is sorry that he will ask more of her in the future, that he will not let her go. 

_I needed to make sure you were okay_ , he tells her when she asks why he is here. 

_I told you I was okay on the phone_ , she says, hand on his arm, just below his wound, worried for him now. The touch ignites him, he cups his hands on either side of her neck. 

_I had to make sure_ , he repeats, trying to tell her what he can’t say aloud. _You are so important to me. I just needed to see you, because just the sight of you makes it feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest. I need you._ Maybe she understands some of his unspoken word because she finally pulls him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

_Well I’m glad you’re here anyway. I’m usually fine with being alone, but it’s a little scarier than normal tonight. Maybe I’ll sleep better with you…I mean with you here. In my apartment. Seperately._

Normally, Oliver would mostly ignore, maybe smile, at that innuendo, but tonight it had him walking towards her and wrapping her in his arms. It was such a relief to finally have her full body pressed against his. Oliver had always kept the contact with Felicity to a minimum, a hand here or there, because even that small amount felt so charged he was not sure what he would do with more. He pulls her tighter to him, running a hand up and into her loose hair. Her arms are around him too now, hands fisted in the back of his shirt. 

_Oliver_ , she sighs and she sounds so content that he cannot help himself. He pulls away just enough to kiss her, moving the hand that is in her hair just a little higher to cradle her head. She jumps at his action, hands tugging his shirt back, and he moves away at once, sure he has made a mistake, but she follows him, kisses him back. There is no control after that, not that Oliver has ever had great control when it comes to pretty women, but when it comes to Felicity and this kiss that is quickly turning into the best of his life, he has no control at all. 

She is insistent in her kisses, demanding, and Oliver is happy to give. Still kissing he lifts her easily and she wraps her legs around his waist. There is a buzzing in the back of his skull, a warning, he should stop, this isn’t right, but she bites his bottom lip, pulls, lets go, and chastely pecks the swollen flesh. He grunts heavily, fuck what’s right. She is at his jaw, ear, neck, as Oliver walks them to her room. He stands at the edge of her sleep-mussed bed and kisses her gently, thoroughly. When they pull away, Felicity climbs off of him and onto her bed, scooting to make room for him. He divests himself of his shirt before joining her, looming over her, surrounding her. She leans up pressing a kiss to the underside of jaw, gently nipping the tender, thin skin there. His hands find the hem of her tank top and then the skin beneath. Clothes are tugged, thrown away until there is nothing but skin and blankets and breath. 

She scrapes her nails down his chest, lightly over his nipples then harder across his stomach. One hand trails to the side of his hip caressing the soft skin there while the other reaches a little lower, gripping him hard and sudden. He hisses and sits up slightly, forcing her to lean forward to keep her grip. She moves her hand, up, down, quick and hard, and watches as he slips his first two fingers into his mouth. He pulls them out slowly, glistening in the dim light of the room, and, placing his other hand on the inside of her thigh, pushes them into her. She yelps at the sudden intrusion, but when he moves his fingers her eyes slam shut and she grinds against the heel of his hand. He obliges her desperate grinding by pressing and circling his thumb where she wants it most, while moving, curling, twisting the fingers inside. Keeping up his ministrations he uses his free hand to disengage her fingers from him and pulls her wrists above her head. Leaning back over her, he nips and sucks at each breath before finally trailing back to her lips. Her kiss is distracted and breathy, so he pulls back to watch the tension on her face. Her chest heaves and one of her legs begins to shake. She is whimpering out his name over and over, _Oliver, Oliver_. Her back arches, brow furrows, mouth opens wide, hips stiffen, and with a wordless cry she falls over the edge.

He moves slightly away from her, giving her a moment, but she is already moving, turning over and crawling, stretching to reach her nightstand. She retrieves a condom from the top drawer and tosses it to Oliver. On, she manages to grunt out returning to her previous position on the bed. He does so with practiced ease and is kneeling between her thighs, aching. He grabs her hips and pulls them up causing her to fall back, one hand on a breast and one above her head. With her hips propped up he eases in to her watching her bite her lip hard as he goes further. Buried, he hooks her knees over his elbows and leans forward into her, his knees bent, their bodies pressed almost flush. She is still close from before and Oliver is not far behind. Her cry is louder this time when she throws her head back and it drowns out the sharp gasp from him. He releases her legs after he catches his breath and slides to the side of her. He takes care of the condom while she uses the bathroom. She stumbles back to him, yawning, and they fall asleep together. 

The morning light streaming through Felicity’s thin curtains wakes Oliver who is used to the expensive heavy curtains of his bedroom. She is still fast asleep, facing away from him now. He lays his hand on her shoulder gently, wanting to feel her skin but not wake her. He doesn’t know what will happen now to their relationship as friends, as teammates. He is not even sure if this can ever leave this room. Everything in his life is so complicated and the last thing he wants is for Felicity to get hurt in any way. He is bad for her, he knows he is. A life with him would be dangerous and messy. But none of that matters right now as he settles down behind her, cradling her body with his. He presses a kiss to her shoulder and closes his eyes intent on sleeping in. Right now, this bliss is all that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make this a more bittersweet ending, but I decided to play nice since the dishes out plenty of bitter all by itself. This is definitely the final chapter, really it was only added because my sweet reviewers asked for it and I felt like writing some smut. 
> 
> Enjoy. Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to write a second part to this. It would be what happens right after all this and would be more shippy, more romantic, and, from what I know of the next episode, totally not canon. But idk. Let me know if you'd be interested in a comment and I might do it (I'm probably gonna do it).
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading, you're awesome.
> 
> And Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! And Hanukkah if you're like Felicity!


End file.
